


building rooms (in my heart for you)

by SeaWallFics



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Actress Christen, Attempt at humor to lighten things up, Boxer dog!, Christen needs a hug, Contractor Tobin, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaWallFics/pseuds/SeaWallFics
Summary: Recently retired A-list actress Christen Press finally has time to oversee some long overdue renovations on her inherited childhood home. Enter Tobin Heath, owner of Five Star Constructions and forewoman on the Press renovations. Tobin has little patience with her uppity client who in turn has never met such an inconsiderate human being like Tobin Heath.How to survive the next three months in such close proximity? Christen's PA Crystal and Tobin's Boxer dog Porter seem to think the secret's in getting to know each other.TW for grief/mourning, just to be safe.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 153
Kudos: 398





	1. straight to business

"Why is there a literal truckload of lesbians in my driveway?"

The dark haired woman posing the question is peering through the upstairs bedroom window, gaze locked onto the scene below. The little "Oh!" from behind her tells her that her PA knows the answer as she continues to watch how four work women – one of them wearing an honest to God hard hat – tumble out of a Dodge RAM 1500.

"You told me to hire a contractor, so I hired a contractor," the dark skinned woman answers her employer slash friend as she moves closer to the window. Together they look on as the hard hatted woman seems to reprimand two of the others for pushing and shoving their way up to the gate. For a second, they look like scolded pups, but the moment hard hat shows them her back they're at it again, yanking shirts and tool belts in order to trip the other up and reach the intercom first.

Christen Press – recently retired A list actress and quite the recluse – turns to face her PA with a finely plucked eyebrow raised high on her forehead. "They look like real professionals, Crystal. Does the circus in town know they're a few clowns short?"

Rolling her eyes at her boss, Crystal Dunn pulls her phone out of her pocket, connecting to the intercom app. Within seconds her screen is filled with intense brown eyes and full lips pulled into a perfunctory smile. "Hi, Tobin Heath with Five Star Constructions. I'm here to see a C.A. Press about the renovations?"

Already on the move, Crystal presses a button on her phone to slide open the wrought iron gate to let the crew enter. "Hi there, Tobin. Please come on up to the front door. We'll meet you there." Christen watches her go, having no intention of following her PA downstairs. They've hashed out the details _ad nauseam_ for the past few weeks, so Crystal knows exactly what needs to be done, which means Christen can stay safely tucked away in her rooms upstairs.

"Aren't you coming?" Crystal asks from her place by the door, mentally huffing at the steely look on Christen's face. She's quite familiar with that expression. It's not just a regular refusal, it's a big, fat NO! And yes, in Crystal's head it's in all capitals and ending in an exclamation mark, Christen looks _that_ severe. But Crystal has more than one ace up her sleeve and she's not afraid to play a little dirty. "Fine!" She exclaims, right before leaving the room and letting the door fall closed behind her. "But I'm not telling them to take their dirty work boots off inside the house and oh, did I hear you say they can pee in your upstairs bathroom?" Crystal holds still halfway down the stairs, waiting for the inevitable sound of a door opening and quick footfalls down the hallway.

When Christen comes into view, Crystal grins at her, cheeky smile only widening at the chagrined look on her face. "You're fired!" Is all she says as she passes Crystal, trying her damnedest to stop herself from smiling as laughter follows her down the stairs. That's the second time today she got canned and it's not even ten AM.

With Crystal on her way to the front door, Christen's at a loss of where to go. Her office is too small for six people, but the kitchen seems too informal. It's in moments like these that Christen's social awkwardness really shows. Now that she's no longer playing roles, she's struggling to find patterns all her own, but it's not as easy as everyone makes it seem. Now that she's out of the spotlights, the need to hide has become even stronger, because without her costumes and without her makeup, Christen Press has no clue who she is.

Crystal finds her in the kitchen. One look is all it takes for the PA to figure out what's keeping her. "We're out on the back patio. Whenever you're ready, okay?" Christen nods in reply, prepping herself to meet four new people at once. They're a raucous bunch judging by the sounds of loud talking and boisterous laughter filtering in through the open kitchen window and Christen already dreads the invasion of her home for the next couple of months. She waits for Crystal to fix a pot of coffee so she has someone to walk out with. She's used to graceful entrances, but she was usually too blinded by camera flashes to even realize that there were people lining up to see her. Or no, to watch her, because seeing her – the _real_ her – is something completely different. She's afraid to find herself judged by these hard working, blue collared women. Compared to them, they must think she has an easy life. A lot of money for so little effort, she thinks they think and they'd be right. Maybe they really think that about her or maybe she's just projecting. It shouldn't matter either way, because she'll meet them, they'll do what they get paid to do and then they'll be out of her life again. Because that's the story of Christen's life. No one ever stays. Not for her. In fact, she's still waiting for Crystal to finally figure out she's not worth it.

Scurrying out behind her assistant, Christen quickly scans her visitors as she offers a reserved greeting. By the looks of it, the playful blonde tomboys definitely recognize her. They're huddled together on the wicker bench, falling silent as soon as she steps outside. A warning glance from the woman on their right tells them to behave as the one on their left – hardhat dangling from the fingers of her right hand, thick manilla folder in front of her on the table – seems to have found religion in the flagstones beneath her well worn boots.

"Christen, if you're ready?" Crystal calls for her attention. With a nod and a bashful smile, she finds her way into an empty chair, hoping this forced get together with four total strangers will be over quickly so she can go back to bed.

Crystal takes to her role as chairwoman of the meeting like a fish does to water. Christen knows she hit the jackpot with such a great friend and confidant as her personal assistant. Crystal knows her through and through and many times Christen's needs are met before they even arise. The woman's a miracle worker and the day will surely come when she needs a more fulfilling job than this one, Christen knows. Crystal's a woman of many talents and keeping her in this position feels a lot like robbing her. Christen doesn't want loyalty to be the only reason for Crystal's presence in her life. Now that she's retired, it probably won't take too long before boredom sets in. She should check in with a few of her fellow actors. See if they need a smart as a whip, tough as nails personal assistant. Send her off with the best of intentions before she decides to leave. That way, it won't hurt as much, Christen hopes.

When she tunes back into the conversation, she's relieved to find Crystal still talking and about to ask the crew to introduce themselves, starting with one of the wicker bench stooges. She goes by the name of Sonnett or Sonny. She's a fast talker, pleasantly surprising Christen with her wit and overall respectful disposition.

Sitting next to her is Lindsey Horan, a dirty blonde with keen blue eyes and – now that "Sonny" isn't trying to make her fall flat on her face – a seemingly calm demeanor. She looks like a power house, though. Christen's sure this one does a lot of heavy lifting and enjoys doing it.

The terrible twosome's keeper – a woman with slicked back bleach blonde hair – introduces herself as Ashlyn Harris. She's to the point and somewhat charming and Christen enjoys the way this woman speaks to her directly as opposed to her coworkers who still don't know where to look since they're not allowed to gawk at her.

Turning her attention to the fourth crew member – the forewoman is Christen's guess – she's startled by the pair of inquisitive brown eyes already watching her. With a little jolt of something she wouldn't know how to name, she looks away for a second before risking another glance. The woman keeps looking right at her as she starts talking. Tobin Heath, Christen registers. Forewoman and owner of Five Star Constructions. Getting straight to the purpose of their meeting, she pulls the folder to her and opens it, finally breaking eye contact. Christen feels released from something, but not in a good way. It's an entirely foreign feeling and she doesn't care for it. She watches the confident constructor weave that same spell on Crystal and even on the members of her own crew. She's obviously putting on an act. It's all for show, to reel in customers and charm them out of a few extra bucks. Christen pledges to herself not to fall into the same trap as her poor PA. As if on cue, Tobin's eyes find hers again, throwing her a quick wink and a cocky half smile. It makes her bristle, knowing that this complete stranger knows how to rile her up. She decides then and there that Tobin Heath is an asshole and she doesn't want to have anything to with her. Ever!


	2. open goal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more scene building. A little interaction. I hope you enjoy!

On day one of renovations Christen's treated to an early morning Travis Scott remix as her wake up call. Shoving her sleep mask up her forehead in a wildly frustrated gesture, she mumbles a few choice words under her breath. She has a pretty good idea on who's DJ-ing downstairs and it has her foaming at the bit to go down there and give that inconsiderate asshole a piece of her sleep interrupted mind. When a resounding 'BANG!' from below scares her witless, she's had enough.

In pink slippers and a thigh length silk kimono, two time Golden Globe winner Christen Annemarie Press thunders down the stairs of her childhood home. Foregoing her usual morning coffee, she storms through the kitchen and out the back door, furious green eyes immediately zeroing in on her tormentor. The seemingly unassuming woman is hauling tools from the bed of her truck, happily whistling along to the yellow jobsite radio a few feet away. Her carefree attitude rubs Christen the wrong way, adding a few more degrees to the wildfire of frustration already raging inside of her.

"Hey!" She yells, startling the constructor into dropping an expensive looking piece of machinery. Watching the woman squat to pick up the tool, Christen can't help but appreciate the tightening of coarse canvas over impressive thighs and glutes. 

"Good morning, Sunshine. How are you today?" Tobin addresses her as soon as she's upright again, knowing full well the lady of the house isn't looking to exchange pleasantries.

"Don't call me that! And will you turn that infernal music down? You're waking up the entire neighborhood!"

Tobin simply grins at her, not at all fazed by this early morning assault. "Your house _is_ the entire neighborhood," she argues, "so I don't think we're going to get any complaints."

"Consider my having to come all the way down here at the crack of dawn a formal complaint!" Christen fumes, voice loud enough to draw attention from the work crew. They're all trying very hard to look inconspicuous, but Emily's an even worse actress than Christen's not to be named nemesis and star struck seems to be Lindsey's default setting around one of her favorite actresses. She couldn't look away if she tried. Which she's not, for the record.

Still not impressed or even remotely affected, Tobin folds her arms over her chest, drawing attention to the tan skin of her forearms and the muscle definition there. She's obviously very fit, Christen determines, immediately bringing her traitorous gaze back up to be met with a bemused smile. If Tobin caught her looking – well, appraising more like – she's not letting on. "Consider it filed. Pending our investigation, we hope you'll give us the benefit of the doubt, but our goal is to present you a satisfying conclusion pretty soon-ish. Now, I have work to do and my employer is a bit of a hard ass, so if that'll be all," Tobin brushes her off, leaving a befuddled Christen behind with the wind taken thoroughly out of her sails.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" Christen tries to take control of the situation.

Tobin keeps moving, smiling to herself, because riling this beautiful woman up is already becoming the best part of this job. "As if you don't love to watch me go."

Christen can't really argue with that, because she _is_ watching her go and she _is_ enjoying it. She refuses to relinquish the last word in, though. "You're a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen, Heath. I'd tread carefully, if I were you!"

"Same here. Nice threads, Sunshine! Love your slippers."

Looking down, Christen groans as she spots bare legs and those ancient pink feathered slippers. Whipping around, she hurries to the back door, letting it close behind her with a resounding thud. She's livid and embarrassed, but it's the most alive she's felt in a long, long time. A fact she chooses to ignore.

On the other side of the yard, Emily tries to get a rise out of Tobin as she approaches. "Flirting on the job, Boss?" Ignoring Emily altogether, she tucks her hands in her pockets with a satisfied smile. Day one is off to a wonderful start.

~

When Crystal walks into the kitchen about forty five minutes later, the first thing she hears is this.

"You're fired!"

It's said with conviction, but Crystal's immune to it by now. "Well, good day to you too, Sunshine. Care to let me in on the details? I wasn't even here, yet I've managed to ruffle your feathers? Something tells me this is gonna be good."

"Don't call me Sunshine!" Christen huffs and puffs around the room like the big bad wolf wanting to blow down the piggies' house. It's awfully amusing, because no matter how angry she gets, Christens still looks like a pup learning to growl. Biting her lower lip — suppressing an utterly enamored smile — Crystal stays quiet and lets her friend flip her lid a little. Letting Christen let off steam usually helps to get them through the rest of the day without too much trouble.

"Did it take you long to find LA's most obnoxious contractor or did you get lucky on the first try? That woman is a menace and I want her off my property!"

Crystal rolls her eyes at the exaggeration, still in the dark about what triggered all this drama so early in the morning.

"You wanted the best in town, you got the best in town. Now you want her gone already. On what grounds are we potentially breaching our contract with good ol' Tobin Heath? Does the color of her hard hat not match the patio furniture?"

"Oh, har har, Crystal Dunn," Christen scoffs. "You have no idea what I woke up to this morning."

"Well," Crystal smirks, "If it was to Tobin Heath in canvas cargo's and that white shirt I saw her wearing, I'm gonna have to ask you again what the problem seems to be. I'm not gay, but _dayum,_ she's looking mighty fine, Chris. I wouldn't mind sharing my morning coffee with a woman like that, menace or not."

Christen's inner voice — deeply tucked away in the recesses of her mind — agrees with a barely audible yet heartfelt "Hell, yeah!" Tobin Heath is nice to look at, Christen admits to herself, as long as she doesn't open that smart mouth with those ridiculously pouty lips. And as long as she doesn't look at Christen with those stupidly knowing chestnut colored eyes. And as long as she doesn't flex just about every muscle in her drool worthy athletic body. (Maybe it's best not to share this inner monologue with her PA. She's looking smug enough as it is.)

"She's arrogant. And smug. And she plays _rap music_ , Crystal. At freaking seven AM in the morning!"

"Aha! She woke you from your beauty sleep, didn't she? That's why you're pissed," Crystal crows. "I hate to tell you this, but there's nothing you can do about it. It's all in the contract. Working hours, the risk of noise disturbance, all of it. So, no can do, Princess. You're stuck with her."

"Well, fuck me, then," Christen sighs in defeat, wishing for a quick and painless death when she hears a low chuckle behind her.

"Not a word out of you," Christen warns as she turns to face the intruder. Tobin's standing on the patio, just outside the open door, with smiling eyes and a dangerous grin. Christen cut her off at the right time, she guesses, sparing herself another moment of embarrassment in the presence of this infuriating woman.

"Shame," Tobin teases. "You set that one up perfectly and now you're robbing me of a shot at an open goal. If you don't want me to score, stop passing me the ball, Sunshine."

"Stop calling me that!" Christen explodes. "What are you even doing in here? Shouldn't you be out there doing what I'm paying you to do?"

"Probably," Tobin shrugs, "but I need a bit of input from someone who knows what they're talking about before we start tearing the place apart."

"Well, what do you want to know?" Christen asks, completely missing the set-up.

"Oh, I guess I made that a little unclear. I meant her," Tobin nods to Crystal, trying hard not to burst into laughter at the chagrined look on Christen's face or the way Crystal's already moving for the door to hide her own smiling face. They hope to make it outside before losing it completely, but Christen takes away all options but that one when she attempts to get the last word in. Again.

"You're both fired!" She yells, rolling her eyes at the peels of laughter echoing off the patio stones.

~


	3. portland oregon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more background. Also, a little more angst, because I can't seem to help it. But also a Boxer dog and the gayng getting together to balance it out. Enjoy!

"Your parents' anniversary is coming up," Crystal tells her later that morning. They're in Christen's home office, scheduling the few appearances she still wants to make. Her PA should know better than to bring it up, Christen thinks. She has no intention of paying any form of attention to the fact that it's been two years since that nightmare inducing day.

"Stop calling it that," she orders. "It's nothing to celebrate."

Crystal looks at her in understanding. She knows it's a difficult subject and every time she brings it up, Christen acts out like a sore pawed bear. "I can't help the terminology, Chris. It's just a heads up to see if you'd like to visit them. You actually have the time for it this year."

It startles Christen to hear it said like that. Like her parents aren't important enough to deserve an hour or two of her valuable time. Is that what people think? That she can't find a moment to pencil them in? If only it were that easy to explain. The real reason for never visiting her parents' gravesite is far more complex and maybe not complex at all. It just hurts. So much. The pain of losing her Mom and Dad is still as fresh and as sharp as it was the first moment she realized they were gone. _Are_ gone. She's stuck in the first stage of grief, dipping her toes into the second when life threatens to overwhelm her, but always sliding back into the safe haven of the first. She lives in denial. She likes it there, because nothing's expected of her there. She's shutting everyone out by shutting herself in, protecting her heart against having to accept the fact that the only two people who loved her unconditionally are gone. It's a reality she can't seem to wrap her mind around. Maybe she just doesn't want to.

"We'll see," Christen compromises, desperate to change topics. She's not going, but she's not in the mood to argue about it, either. Crystal seems to know what's up, letting it slide for now. She'll bring it up again in a few days, hoping to convince Christen to come along — Crystal is going either way — and finally start grieving.

~

"Who's taking care of Portland?" Emily asks as she wipes a trickle of sweat from her brow. She's been lugging wood from one end of the Press estate to the other, having gracefully offered Lindsey and Ash the use of her garden tractor, a decision she's regretted since her second haul.

Tobin isn’t faring much better with beads of perspiration rolling down her back and bare arms and saw dust clinging to every damp part of her body. " _Porter_ is having a sleepover at Mom and Pop’s. They’re bringing him back on Friday."

"You have a kid?" A voice pipes up from a few feet away. Tobin finds Crystal standing there with a cooler in one hand and a paper bag in the other. Lunch time has arrived, it seems.

"God, no," Tobin chuckles, unable to wrap her head around the thought of having children at this point in her life. (Not that she doesn’t want them, because she really, really does.) "Porter's a dog. I have enough trouble teaching _him_ some manners. Can't imagine raising a kid."

From beside her, Emily guffaws as well. "Right? That would totally cramp your style. _Portland's_ such a handsome little chick magnet."

Emily's candor has Tobin flushing. Noticing the pensive look on the PA's face, she starts wondering if her sexuality is a dealbreaker for this woman. Or her boss. But then she thinks of the little talk she had with the gorgeous woman just this morning and she likes to think she has nothing to worry about in that department. The little pang in her gut when she remembers those furious green eyes trailing up and down her form? Well, that's a different department altogether and one she isn't planning on visiting any time soon.

"You named your dog Portland?" It seems to be Crystal's main concern after Emily's quip and Tobin jumps at the opportunity to talk about her beautiful Boxer dog, gratefully steering the conversation in a safer direction.

"His pedigree name is Portland Oregon, but he hates it. We only use it when he's being a bad boy," Tobin tells her with a straight face, enjoying the dubious look on Crystal's face. As if she's counting Tobin's marbles and coming up a couple short.

"Portland Oregon? You're shitting me, right?"

"I'm not," Tobin swears. "I love Portland. In another life, I think I would've wanted to live there."

"And it's way better than the other names we came up with," Emily jumps in. "One more toke and he'd be Stoner now. Remember Toby?"

Tobin facepalms, cursing the blonde blabbermouth standing next to her. Peeking through her pinky and ring finger, she finds Crystal staring at her with a knowing grin.

"It's a town in Canada," is all Tobin offers in answer to Crystal's unspoken question. "I love it there."

"I'll bet you do," Crystal smirks, enjoying the blush it brings to the contractor's cheeks, but taking care not to humiliate her. In an act of mercy, she holds up the paper bag in her hand, showing Tobin and Emily the familiar logo of a local sandwich shop. "Lunch?"

"Yes, please," Emily nods in eager excitement. She drops to the ground, making grabby hands at Crystal and her bounty.

Rolling her eyes at Emily, Tobin apologizes to Crystal. " _This one_ we haven't house trained yet. Let me go get Lindsey and Ash."

~

"So you had lunch with the work crew?" Christen asks again, hearing the words, but not understanding them. "Why?"

"Because I like them," Crystal tells her in a "duh" tone of voice. "They're a fun bunch to be around."

Christen stares at her like she's off her rocker, the look on her face saying everything her mouth isn't.

"Get down from your ivory tower, Press," Crystal scolds her. "They're great people. And I have it on good authority that you were "appreciating" a certain crew member's booty this morning."

"Hardly," Christen scoffs. "Who've you been talking to anyway? They need to get their facts straight."

"I heard the facts were anything _but_ straight," Crystal grins. She knows what she's doing, laughter bubbling inside of her as she watches her friend's hackles start to rise.

"Oh, come on, Chris. There's no shame in admitting you want Tobin to "hang your drywall". You want her to "hammer your nails" and "tighten your screws", Crystal continues to taunt her, using finger quotes to make the words seem a lot more indecent.

"Will you stop it?" Christen bristles. "You're not funny."

"Maybe not," Crystal concedes. "But I _am_ right, am I not?"

Christen wants to say no. She wants to tell Crystal she's out of her mind. That there's nothing about Tobin Heath that could possibly capture and hold Christen's attention. But that's not true, is it? She remembers the rush of excitement from their encounter this morning and if she's honest with herself, she hasn't thought of much else throughout her day. "You're not," she lies, her tone brooking no argument. "Can we please go back to work now?"

Crystal wants to say more, but thinks better of it. Tomorrow is another day to try and find a way into Christen's broken heart and if Crystal is reading things right, Tobin Heath may very well be en route already. Focusing back on the task at hand, she slides into her chair and starts tapping away on her tablet. "So, Stella McCartney or Alice and Olivia for the GLAAD awards?"

~

"So, Stella Artois or Heineken for the gayng?" Ashlyn demands of her table mates before making a trip to the bar. They're at their usual haunt celebrating the end of another fruitful day. With Ashlyn's girlfriend Ali running the bar, their table is always available and usually already filled with two large pizzas and a bowl of freshly made panzanella.

Emily's started picking pieces of bread from the bowl, the mouth watering smells wafting up from the dishes making it impossible to contain herself. Lindsey tries to stop her, but Emily has a black belt in stealing food from plates and dishes (preferably not her own) and it shows. By the time Lindsey's hand reaches its intended destination, Emily's chewing on a lovely piece of toasted ciabatta, humming in satisfaction. She's saved from further scolding by Ashley's return.

Setting four bottles on the table, Ash immediately starts in on Tobin. "How'd you end up pissing off America's Sweetheart? I heard that door slam from all the way across the yard."

Tobin shrugs one shoulder in feigned indifference. She feels a smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she remembers Christen storming off, but she doesn't want to give these women a reason to keep asking questions. "I guess she's just not much of a Travis Scott fan."

"That's it?" Ashley asks, clearly not buying what Tobin's selling if her skeptical tone is anything to go by. "Tell us the truth, Heath. Did you come on to her? Did she shoot you down?"

Tobin looks at her in disbelief. "Dude, I run a business. Do you really think I'd come on to a client like that?" The chorus of yes's following that question has Tobin reaching for her beer. "You're all assholes and I'm done talking about this. Pizza's getting cold."

"Aw, Toby, don't be mean," Emily pouts. "We know you'd never do anything untoward on the job, but we'd forgive you for slipping up just this once. Christen Press is a looker!"

"Yeah," Lindsey sighs with a dreamy look on her blushing face. "She's even more beautiful up close, don't you think?"

"Can we stop talking about our _client_ , please? We're off the clock," Tobin tries to change the subject. She's not quite as successful as she'd hoped.

"Give it up, Tobin," Ashley smirks as she punches Tobin in the arm. "Just tell us you have a thing for CP23 and we'll let you off the hook."

Tobin looks at her in confusion. "CP23? What does that mean?"

"It's Christen's nickname," Lindsey offers, apparently up-to-date on all things Christen Press. "The number twenty three refers to the amount of awards she's won over the years. Her fans coined it after she retired."

"Thank you, Lindsey-pedia," Tobin deadpans. "Am I the only one completely out of the loop here?" The question earns her another three yes's and a salvo of loud laughter from the peanut gallery. Catching Ali's attention, Tobin motions for another round. She's going to need it.

~

"Is Pierre going to be home for dinner tonight?" Christen asks as she checks the time. It's not unusual for Crystal to linger, but she has a feeling she knows why her assistant is dawdling.

"He knows how to cook."

"You can go, you know," Christen tells her. "I don't need a babysitter." She can't help the hint of irritation sounding through. She hates being "handled". As if she's fragile and they expect her to crack any day now.

"I know you don't, Chris, but that doesn't mean I like leaving you here alone." Looking up, she finds Christen watching her. It's the actress staring back at her, not her friend. This Christen wears a carefully constructed mask, void of emotions. The blank stare sends shivers down Crystal's back and she's reminded of exactly why this woman has twenty three trophies in her name.

"I want to be alone now, Crystal. I think it's time for you to go."

Crystal's already up and moving, feeling no need to argue. Knowing it's pointless. This side of Christen knows no reason and no compassion. Able to shut down parts of herself, the masterful actress uses those skills to make people _believe_ this side of her. Despite knowing better — despite knowing _Christen_ — Crystal refuses to fight the woman wearing the mask. Slinging the strap of her tote over her shoulder, she makes for the door, walking straight past Christen. Grabbing the door handle, she pauses before opening it. "You can do this as many times as you need to, Christen, but you're not getting rid of me that easily. Call me if you need anything." And then she's off, tearing up as she leaves behind a woman who doesn't remember how to cry. 

That same woman haunts the hallways and rooms of her childhood home, clinging to the echoes of her past. When night falls, darkness finds her rattling around the house in search of pieces of herself and her family that no longer exist. As part of her nightly routine, she enters her parents' room. Flicking on the overhead light, she makes her way to the window seat but doesn't settle there. She can't.

They say you can't change the past, but losing someone teaches a different lesson. Death does not only impact the future, it impacts the past as well, Christen's learning. The past hurts, because that's where her Mom and Dad live and she can't reach them there. The present hurts because that's where her parents can't reach _her_ and she's in no position to even consider the future. Days pass her by. _Life_ passes her by and in her darkest moments — on the nights she can't sleep and every shadow spooks her — she can't help but wish for time to speed up, just so she can stop hurting.

~

One too many beers sees Tobin in the back of an Uber. Her driver is a chill dude even if he's a little talkative for her tastes. He's so into the story he's telling, he completely misses his exit. Offering apologies and reimbursement for the extra miles, he drives them through the upper income neighborhoods, oohing and aahing at the beautiful villas and mansions with their soccer field sized gardens and pools. At the next turn, the houses start to look familiar to Tobin, knowing the Press residence is coming up on her right. She watches the house as they pass it. Catching a glimpse of it through the pickets of the wrought iron fence, Tobin swears she catches sight of a lone figure standing in front of an upstairs window and for some reason — she'll blame it on the booze tomorrow — she feels a single tear roll down her cheek. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't seem to write a story without the angsty bits, even if I try to keep it light and fun. Christen's trauma will be much discussed, so I added a few more tags just to be safe, but I will also try to keep their banter going. If you like it, I'd love to hear about it. Feedback is much appreciated.


	4. darkness & light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of everything. Starting out with lots of angst and ending with something a lot lighter.
> 
> I'm not sure if a trigger warning is in order, but the first part mentions deceased people and their injuries. Not very graphically, but still. Proceed with caution (of skip the part entirely) if this is a trigger for you.

Christen's restless tonight, even in sleep. She tosses and turns, mutters under her breath. She remembers, something she won't allow herself to do in her waking hours. Grief is a sneaky bitch, though, always knowing where to find her in her most defenseless moments. It's why she won't let herself fall asleep if she can help it, but her body demands rest every now and then and sometimes her mind is too tired to fight it.

In her dream — her _nightmare_ — she's back at the hospital, Crystal by her side, sprinting up to the admittance desk. She watches herself being led through endless corridors, her breathing irregular from an oncoming panic attack, a sympathetic looking nurse finally halting them outside a plain looking hospital room. Her dream self freezes, refusing to go inside that room, knowing what's in there. _Who's_ in there. Entering that room will shatter her all over again, just like it does every time she relives these awful moments.

She whimpers as she hears the nurse slide open that damn door, revealing two beds. Or rather two tables. Two _autopsy_ tables. Her Daddy's on the left, looking like he's having a pleasant dream. As if he'll wake up any moment now. Her Mom, though, is barely recognizable. Impact injuries, they'll tell her later. Dream Christen crawls across mustard yellow linoleum, not quite sure the woman on that stainless steel table is her beautiful Mama. Hoping they're wrong. Sitting up on her knees, she takes the woman's hand — still warm, she notes — in one of her own. She recognizes the rings on those fingers and the familiarity of that touch, leaving no doubt that this is indeed her Mama and that her parents are really gone.

Then she's in the cemetery, staring at two caskets hovering over rectangular holes, their cherry finish gleaming in the Californian sun. When the wooden boxes disappear into the ground, Christen sinks right along with them. First her heels, then her feet. Her ankles, calves and knees. Her thighs, her hips, her tummy. The cold makes her gasp one last time as it envelopes her chest and her shoulders and then all breathing stops.

She wakes up crying, cold sweat making her shiver despite the heavy down comforter covering her. It's still dark out. She was probably out for just an hour or two, knowing that's all the sleep she's getting tonight. She gets up to take a shower, hoping to wash away the lingering images of her Momma's bruised and bloodied face and her Daddy's peaceful looking smile. Maybe tonight, it'll actually work. (It doesn't.)

~

Tobin's restless tonight, unable to sleep. She can't quite put her finger on it, but something's keeping her awake. She's feeling jittery. Uneasy. She has a nagging feeling she needs to be somewhere, but she can't figure out where that is. It's keeping her awake. It's on nights like tonight she really misses Porter. He's an excellent listener and he loves to cuddle until Tobin falls asleep. He also loves to go for a midnight run if all else fails, knowing he'll get an extra snack out of it when they get back. Since Porter's still with her parents, she hopes a shot of whiskey will do the trick. (It doesn't.)

In the wee hours of morning, raw and defenseless from a lack of sleep, her mind decides to replay every recording of Christen Press. There's a lot of detail in those scenes, Tobin's stunned to find out. From the precise shade of her eyes — she can't pinpoint their color — to the slight unevenness of her front teeth. Slim hands, long fingers. The tiny hump in the bridge of her nose and the way her left ear sticks out a little. The curls, of course, and her tiny wrists and the way her hips made that silk kimono dance. Not wanting to cross any lines, Tobin stops her mind from wandering into dangerous territory. Sipping her whiskey, she makes her way back into the bedroom and turns on the tv, hoping Netflix will hold her through the night.

~

"Jesus," Crystal murmurs when she walks into the kitchen the next morning. "Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

Glaring at her friend with bloodshot eyes, Christen sips from a large mug of coffee to get her brain started.

"That's a no then," Crystal deduces, back flat against the kitchen cabinets as she shuffles her way over to the coffeemaker, pretending to stay away from her cranky boss as far as she can. 

Sitting at the counter, Christen merely rolls her eyes at her friend's early morning antics. In reality, it really helps when Crystal jokes her way through the hardest parts of Christen's days. She needs the levity. Someone to show her that there's still more to life than _this_. Crystal knows how to make her smile, _tries_ to make her laugh (without success, but she'll get there).

"Nightmares?" Crystal queries when she plops down at the kitchen island.

Nodding, Christen keeps her eyes on her coffee cup, escaping the look of sympathy (pity?) on Crystal's face.

"Did I trigger something by bringing it up the other day?"

Shaking her head in the negative, Christen keeps staring at the dark liquid in her Mama's favorite mug. "They're nothing new," she shrugs. "All part of the process, right?"

Crystal watches her, unpopular opinion on the tip of her tongue. She's been holding back for so long now, catering to Christen's wishes of staying silent on the subject. It's not helping, though, and there's no progress to speak off. She opens her mouth, risking Christen's wrath, her job and maybe even her place in Christen's life.

"What process is that, Chris? Because I honestly don't see much processing going on," Crystal flat out tells her.

Christen stills, the whiteknuckled grip on her mug the only proof of her rising emotions. Looking up with furious eyes, she finds Crystal staring back at her in defiance, challenging her to fucking _finally_ speak her mind. "You're coming awfully close to overstepping, Crystal. I told you many times to stop pushing me."

"I should've pushed you much harder a long time ago," Crystal argues, refusing to back down. "You're not the one who died, Christen, but you did stop living. Your parents wouldn't have wanted this for you. They'd want you to be happy."

"If they'd wanted me to be _happy_ , they shouldn't have _died_ ," Christen explodes, consumed by guilt the second the words leave her mouth. She's trembling so badly, lukewarm coffee sloshes over the rim of her mug, staining the breakfast bar. "How dare you tell me that I'm standing still? I haven't had a full night's sleep in two years, _processing_ every fucking detail of the fact that my parents _left me_. I'm afraid to close my eyes at night because all I see is my Mom's cracked skull and the misplaced grin on my Daddy's face," she bristles, eyes dry like the desert as Crystal's fill with tears. "Tell me, Crystal," Christen hisses in conclusion, "since you're such an expert on the subject and all. How the hell do you expect me to be happy about all that?"

A somewhat pregnant silence fills the air between them. Crystal doing her best not to cry, Christen trying her hardest to ignore her best friend's tears.

" _After_ all that," Crystal corrects, drawing Christen's confused attention. "No one expects you to move on like nothing happened, Christen. That's all you. You say you're not standing still and you're right. You're not. You're running. Away from grieving properly, that is. You've been doing it for two years now. I'm exhausted from just watching you do it. I can't imagine how _you_ must feel." It's here she draws a breath as she gets up from her seat. "You're the only one standing in the way of your happiness, Christen. Not me, certainly not your parents, but _you_. Once _you_ decide you deserve to be happy again, you let me know and we'll figure it out together." With that, she heads for the back door. She needs a moment to catch her breath and gather her thoughts to get through the rest of today, confident in knowing she's given Christen something to think about.

Watching Crystal's back, Christen wants to stay angry, but it's no use. She knows Crystal's right, but it's so damn hard to admit that. Moving on and forgetting are two completely different things, she knows, but it's a concept she has yet to get a grip on where her parents are concerned. Getting used to this new reality is too overwhelming and shutting down has always been her only coping mechanism. That and her parents' encouragement. Their blind faith in her and their unconditional love. With them gone, shutting down — turning _off —_ is the only way to get from one day to the next or is it? Crystal's words still ring in her ears, the shrapnel of that little truth bomb landing in different places in her heart and mind. If there's really a chance of being happy again, shouldn't she want to take it? Closing her eyes, she tries to get past the images of broken limbs and ashen faces. She tries to conjure up memories of the happy times spent in this very same house. A small smile curls up her lips as she remembers her seven year old self sitting in her Mama's lap, cheek resting against her sternum. She remembers feeling utterly safe and so incredibly loved. The memory startles her into the here and now and into understanding what she misses most. She just wants to feel safe. She just wants to be loved. She has a lot to think about.

~

"Hey, Ma. What's up?" There's a bit of caution in Tobin's voice, wondering why her mother is calling so early in the day.

"Hi, honey. We're in a bit of a pickle here. Grandma fell and sprained her ankle. We're driving down there to help her out for a bit, so we're going to have to drop Porter off a little ahead of schedule."

"Oh, okay. Is Grandma alright? Besides the bum ankle, I mean."

"She's a little shaken up, but she'll be fine in no time. We'll be back in a couple of days."

"That's good to hear, Ma. See you in a bit. Bye."

Ending the call, Tobin runs a hand through her hair, trying to figure out who to call to come take care of Porter for the day. She'd ask her next door neighbors, but they're a bunch of sullen pensioners, frowning at her from their front yard when Porter's being his usual rowdy self during their evening walk. Porter would never forgive her. Resigning herself to take a personal day — her first ever — she picks her phone back up to call Crystal.

"Hey, it's Tobin," she announces through her cell phone speaker. "I'm sorry, but I'm not gonna make it today. Something came up."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I know this sounds unprofessional, but I have no one to take care of my dog. I'll need the day to make new arrangements for the rest of the week."

"Bring him," Crystal tells her, smile growing devious at the little plan coming together in her mind. She's sure there's going to be yelling at first and she may even get fired (again), but boss lady Press loves dogs and Porter just may be the unexpected key to the locks and chains on Christen's feelings. She kicks herself for not thinking of it sooner.

Tobin sounds doubtful as she questions Crystal's offer. "Shouldn't you ask Christen first?"

"Does he bark a lot?"

"Only when he's excited," Tobin answers honestly.

"Does he bite?"

"No! He's a sweetheart."

"Sounds like Porter outclasses my boss on both counts," Crystal jokes. "Bring the dog, Tobin. It'll be fine."

~

When Tobin drives up an hour later, Crystal's already waiting to take Porter off her hands. Leashing him before opening the door, he jumps out behind her, curious to know this new person. She smells like a good egg, Porter decides, sniffing at her outstretched hand before allowing it to pet him. His tail's wagging a mile a minute, but Tobin has him sit to curb his enthusiasm. Crystal's wearing an expensive looking suit and she'd hate for it to be sullied by Porter's drool.

Receiving a top tier scratching behind his ears, Porter's quickly becoming a fan of this human and the ways she speaks to him. It's all gibberish to him, of course, but the high pitched sound of her voice tells him she has nothing but good things to say about him. He likes it a lot and he wouldn't hate it if it never stops.

A sound from behind his new friend catches his attention, though. He's immediately alert, ready to protect his master, standing up to his full height to scare off the potential threat coming their way. He watches with keen interest as another human walks towards them with careful steps. Porter can't quite put his paw on this newcomer's intentions, but instinct tells him she's not out to hurt them. He relaxes his stance, but only a little. A subtle tug on his leash tells him it's okay to sit down and let his master do the barking.

Words are exchanged, his master's low voice soothing as always. Newcomer sounds a little peeved, Porter thinks, looking up at Tobin to check in. Her face is relaxed, calm and steady eyes trained on newcomer, not a wrinkle of worry or distress in sight. His attention switches back to the human with the long, curly fur who's still making all sorts of noises. She also moves her hands a lot, making Porter wonder about their ear scratching abilities. Is he allowed to sniff them? Under the guise of reseating himself, he moves an inch or two closer, looking back at his master to see if he's on to her. Master Tobin, it appears, only has eyes for newcomer. Perfect! He scoots another inch closer, then another until he feels the strain on his collar. Darn it. No more wiggle room and the newcomer is still ignoring him. He barks. Just once to catch newcomer's attention. 

When her eyes meet his, Porter's tail kicks into an even higher gear, hoping Tobin will let him approach. Instead, the curly furred newcomer approaches him, one hand already reaching out for him. In his impatience, Porter forgoes his customary sniff, ducking his head under the human's long fingers, urging her to pet him. She's a class A scratcher, Porter quickly discovers, tongue lolling out at the blissful feeling of hands running along his neck and back. Another keeper, he thinks. Master Tobin sure knows how to pick 'em.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to find a proper balance between darkness and light, so I'm very curious to know how you feel about the story and the quick changes between POV's and feelings.  
> If you could find the time, I'd love to hear back from you. You can also find me on Tumblr. I'm @seawallfics over there.


	5. portland oregano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of everything.  
> Porter sliding from being a little shit into being a right knight in shining armor, Christen in _that_ white suit and people just love to tease Tobin.  
> Enjoy!

"Porter!"

Tobin cringes in sympathy at the cry coming from the front yard. Sounds like someone's in trouble and a small part of her wishes it was her. There's been a severe lack of interaction between her and the owner of that voice and while she'll never admit it out loud, she's kind of bummed about it. Porter, the little stinker, has charmed his way into Ms. Press's good graces since the moment the two locked eyes yesterday. Getting him to go home with her last night had been a test of patience with Porter stubbornly refusing to leave Christen's side, his new bestie (unsuccessfully) trying to smother her glee at Tobin's frustration while consistently running a hand over Porter's brindle colored coat, relishing the warmth of him pressed into her side as they'd shared the wicker bench on the back patio. From the sound of things, the tables have turned. Speaking of the little deserter.

Porter's racing her way, paws dirty, muzzle a mess. Christen's in hot pursuit of the panting canine who's obviously enjoying the chasing game they're playing. Christen looks anything but playful, Tobin thinks. It's a fact Porter is blissfully unaware of as he bounds up to Tobin. Coming to an abrupt halt in front of his master, Porter looks up at Tobin who can't help but chuckle at the clods of soil and bits of green clinging to his snout. Even his usually white stop is now of a brownish color and Tobin can't help but chuckle at the happy wreckage sitting in front of her.

"He dug up my oregano," Christen fumes, pointing a pair of pruning shears in Porter's direction to indicate the culprit. Tobin lifts an eyebrow at the bright pink gardening gloves holding those shears, attention drawn to them by the jabbing motion. Pointedly ignoring the accusation, Porter stares up at Tobin with a huge doggy grin splitting his innocent looking face. She wants to laugh, but that'll probably only piss off Christen more and she's plenty pissed off as it is. She's pinning Tobin in her place with narrowed green eyes, clearly expecting her to say something.

"We're sorry?" Tobin tries, hoping an apology will smooth over the little wrinkle between Christen's perfectly plucked eyebrows. No such luck, unfortunately.

"Yeah, you both look extremely remorseful," Christen deadpans, looking from one unapologetic face to the other. "Do you have any idea how long it takes for oregano to reach its full height?"

She should've just shaken her head in the negative, but Tobin — being the complete dolt she can be — starts speaking before her brain kicks in. "I'm guessing a long thyme?"

Christen stares at her, a look of befuddlement quickly shifting to something a little more dangerous. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't dare," Tobin denies, able to suppress her smile, but not the glint of amusement in her eyes. "Look, I'm really sorry about your oregano. It's a shame it pasta way."

"Oh, that's real mature, Tobin," Christen bristles, missing the way Tobin flushes at hearing her name fall from Christen's lips for the very first time. "I expect three new seedlings by morning," she demands as she turns to storm off. "And keep your dog out of my garden."

"I'll try to get him to stop pesto-ing you," Tobin calls after her, just to keep the conversation going. "But I cannoli do so much." She damn near swoons when Christen flips her the bird over her right shoulder. Crouching down, she plucks the bits of dirt and oregano from Porter's nose and lips, kissing his blocky head when she's done. "Thanks, buddy. I really needed that."

~

On her way back to her herb garden, Christen finds her assistant stretched out in one of her deck chairs. Crystal's in full business attire, looking rather ridiculous laid out in the sun like that. 

"Never thought I'd say this to you, but you're wearing too many clothes."

Crystal's body shakes with laughter, huge sunglasses hiding her smiling eyes. "Quit flirting with me. You and I are never gonna happen."

"Bummer," Christen sighs. "For you, obviously. You don't know what you're missing."

"Oh, but I _do_ know, remember?" Crystal smirks, reliving a rather explicit scene starring Christen and her paramour for the night. "I already know what your O-face looks like, my friend. I do not need a repeat."

Christen groans in mortification at the reminder. "How much will it cost me to make you forget that?"

"You don't have that kind of money, Pressi, but I'm open to letting you pay for a lobotomy. It's not like I _want_ to remember that little piece of history."

Christen's sure she heard it wrong, but that last part sounded an awful lot like another food pun. Rolling her eyes at the memory of the contractor and her silly dog, she smiles and then chuckles. It startles her and she catches herself, immediately putting a stop to it as she exchanges a wide-eyed look with Crystal.

"Good day?"

Christen mulls it over. Thinks of Porter and his boundless energy. Thinks of his master and the absolute bonkers conversation they just had and comes to an unexpected conclusion. "Good day," she nods, but saying it opens the faulty tap on her emotions and guilt trickles into her system like a shot of venom.

The shadows darkening Christen's eyes don't go unnoticed. Crystal steps into her to bring her into a hug. "One day at a time, Chris. I'm already so proud of you."

Christen leans heavily against Crystal's frame, chin hooked over her shoulder, strong hands gripping the fabric of Crystal's suit jacket in quiet desperation. "I want to feel better," she whispers. "Please help me feel better," she pleads.

Tightening her hold on a too small waist, Crystal vows to do anything in her power to make life mean something again for the broken woman in her arms.

~

"Dude, you fed her food puns?" Ashlyn sniggers before taking a bite of her burrito.

"There's nothing wrong with that, Toby," Emily defends her rosy cheeked, decidedly uncomfortable looking employer. "Everyone knows the way to a woman's heart is through her stomach."

Lindsey watches in disgust as she takes an obnoxiously large bite of her Philly Cheesesteak, melted Provolone clinging to bread filled cheeks, bits of onion surrounding her paper plate. "With the way you're eating, it's going neither of those places."

Porter lies a distance away as he watches his pack bicker their way through lunch time. His focus is on Emily — known to Porter as the loud one — because she's a messy eater and she always leaves him a few extra treats. Under her chair is a nice chunk of beefsteak with his name on it and, more often than not, small pieces of sweetened bread come his way when lunch is over. He's being such a good boy by staying put, having learned the hard way that begging doesn't get him much of anything. The smells make him drool, though, and small puddles of saliva form where he rests his head on the patio tiles.

His new favorite human's in a lounger across from him with her eyes closed, knees drawn up. She's not sleeping, Porter knows, because her breathing is too irregular and her face looks far from relaxed. He intends to stay close to this one — the quiet one — sensing her need for comfort. Her restlessness has him on constant alert, ready to lend him his back to rub or his belly to scratch whenever he senses her overwhelming sadness. She smiles at him when he nudges her thigh with his blunt sniffer or when he parks his head in her lap to let her know he's there for her. She thanks him with soft spoken words — probably telling him how handsome he is — and if he's really lucky, she'll give him a smooch right between his velveteen ears (her words, not his). He likes it here, lazing around in this great, big garden all day with his pack nearby and getting to know all these wonderful new humans. Hearing a familiar whistle, Porter watches the woman in the lawn chair for a long moment before deciding to heed Tobin's call, satisfied in the knowledge that the quiet one is finally getting some rest.

When Tobin comes to find her an hour or so later, Porter in tow, Christen's still asleep, but no longer resting. She looks pale and feverish, shivering despite the warm LA weather. She seems so small — so _young_ — curled up on her side like that and Tobin's caught between wanting to wake her and not wanting to overstep Christen's boundaries. Porter sits and waits, looking up at Tobin with questioning eyes, asking his master to help the now whimpering human, but nothing's happening. He's done waiting when Christen starts crying and before Tobin's "Porter, no!" has a chance to leave her lips, he's up on the lounger. He carefully fits himself in the space behind Christen's bent knees, peeking over the joints to catch Tobin's exasperated look. With a huff, he escapes his master's silent admonishment by ducking his head behind Christen's body, knowing he's won when he hears a resigned sigh followed by retreating footsteps. Coast clear, he lifts his head to rest it on Christen's thigh, scooting even closer to the still shivering human, hoping his presence will somewhat ease her sorrow.

~

She wakes up to the sound of Crystal's voice and the subsequent jostling of her lounger. Opening her eyes, Christen finds her assistant standing over her talking to Porter who's wagging his tail so hard, he's about to vibrate them both off the wooden bed.

"Sorry to wake you, but hair and makeup will be here within the hour," Crystal lets her know, truly apologetic for disturbing what looked like a pretty good nap. Finding her friend cuddling Porter damn near made her cry, the sight of a peacefully sleeping Christen quite the wallop to the sternum. She'll have to talk to Tobin about a sleepover sometime soon. With Porter, that is. Sleepovers with Tobin will follow eventually, if Crystal has anything to say about it.

Stretching the kinks out of her sore muscles, Christen gets up. Leaning down, she cradles Porter's head between her hands, pressing her lips to the space between his ears. "Thanks, buddy. I really needed that," unknowingly repeating Tobin's words from earlier that day. Porter preens a little at the attention, proud he was able to make Christen feel a little bit better.

"Should I worry about my best friend status?" Crystal jokes as she watches the two. "There's an awful lot of appreciating going on here."

Christen stands, smiling at Crystal as she lunges for her. She cradles the laughing woman's head the same way she did Porter's, pressing a kiss right between sparkling brown eyes. "Better shape up, babe. He's gaining ground fast," she teases before taking off towards the back of the house.

She's been dreading going out tonight, but she feels a little stronger than she did this morning. She'll have to field questions about her parents and about the end of her career, two subjects she'd rather not talk about. Knowing Crystal will be by her side makes it a little easier to breathe, trusting her PA to fill the awkward silences following too intrusive questions. Three more nights like tonight and she'll be free of the vultures waiting for her — preying on her — around every corner she turns. Reaching the stairs, she takes them two steps at a time to get past the family pictures hanging in the stairwell as quickly as possible. Ignoring them doesn't save her from hearing her parents' voices following her down the hall to the bathroom. They're telling her she can do this. That the things she _can't_ do haven't been invented yet. That they love her. They're proud of her. _Always_. She nearly falters, but powers through as she wills away the almost unfamiliar sensation of tears rushing through their ducts. She refuses to let them fall, however, knowing she'll cry forever once she lets herself start.

Balling her hands into fists — nails biting into the soft flesh of her palms — she tries to center herself. She thinks of tonight and the two or three particularly asshole paparazzi that will definitely come too close with both their cameras and their questions. She thinks of their smug faces and the blinding flashes as they take their pictures, eager to pick apart her appearance, craving to share her every single flaw with their followers. Crazy as it may sound, it's these things she knows how to handle. She's fully equipped to deal with maniacal fans and inconsiderate reporters, her mask sliding into place the moment her high heeled feet touch a red carpet. It's everything else — everything outside of the glitter and glamour — she struggles with. With a sigh, she pushes a series of buttons on the panel of her state of the art shower cabin, readying herself for yet another night of pretending.

~

Muttering under her breath, Tobin crosses the yard in long strides. She's ready to go home, but her dog's nowhere to be found. She calls his name, whistles for him, but he's not responding and Tobin has a pretty good idea where he's hiding out. Walking up to the back door, she finds the little traitor exactly where she expected him. Lying on the kitchen floor as if he belongs there, he looks to be out like a light, even with the hustle and bustle going on around him.

Crystal's inside as well. She's wearing a blue dress, bare feet peeking out from under blue silk as she pads her way around the room. Christen's sitting at the breakfast bar with her back to the window, a tall African American woman running her bony fingers through the actress' hair with long strokes, trying to get it to sit just right, Tobin imagines. To Christen's right is a _very_ handsome dude — his hair styled into an amazing pompadour — tilting his head this way and that as he plucks at the shoulders of a white suit jacket. Looking down at herself, Tobin takes in her dirty pants and worker boots. The hand gripping the door knob is rough from calluses and she's pretty sure she's gained a splinter or two from sawing slats all afternoon. Her black t-shirt is as clean as can be expected, but a quick sniff in the general direction of an armpit tells her she's not exactly hiding nine hours of manual labor. There's no way in hell she's opening that door.

Pulling her phone from a side pocket, she sends Crystal a text. Seconds later, the back door opens. Expecting the recipient of her message, Tobin looks up from her phone with a wry grin, ready to apologize to Crystal for luring her outside, but the woman walking her way is _not_ Crystal. Tobin takes a step back, not even slightly prepared for the sight of Christen wearing an all white suit. The soft looking fabric contrasts beautifully against tan skin, a diamond necklace drawing ample attention to the deep V of her top.

"Here to steal my dog again?" Christen's amused voice cuts through all sorts of inappropriate thoughts hijacking Tobin's brain. With a heavy gaze she travels the length of Christen, starting at the crown of her shimmering hair, taking in the large, dangling earrings, pausing on that delicious V again. Another short break as widened brown eyes rest on the inch of flesh of a trim belly where the short jacket won't quite reach the waist of her slacks. On the way down to wide cuffs dwarfing elegant silver heels, Christen draws Tobin's eyes back to hers with an all but subtle scraping of her throat. Still mesmerized — now by the deep green of Christen's eyes — Tobin misses the playful question, starting a completely different conversation.

"You look like an angel," she offers, the awe in her voice unmistakable.

Christen blushes, but the comment has her smiling as well. "You sound so sure. Are you a bit of an expert on the subject?"

Shaking her head, Tobin keeps staring at the way Christen's pink lips move around the teasing words. "No, but if I didn't believe in God before, you'd definitely swing my vote."

Christen's smile widens. She's captivated by Tobin's honesty and the flattery spilling from her generous mouth. "Thank you, Tobin," she offers in genuine gratitude, the contractor's words warming her from the inside out. She watches Tobin bashfully nod her head in acknowledgment of her comment, but there's no further response. Things are about to turn awkward, but they're saved by the sound of a door opening, Crystal's voice ringing out.

"Chris? If we still want to make "fashionably late", we really need to leave now."

"Coming!" Christen calls back, already moving a couple of steps back from where Tobin's standing. "I'll have them send Porter out when I'm a safe distance away," she promises. Understanding the why of that statement — pure white and doggy drool just don't make for a very good red carpet look — Tobin takes another mental snapshot of Christen before wishing her a good night.

"You too, Tobin. I'll see you in the morning." With that, Christen disappears inside, recognizing and _accepting_ the hope blossoming in her chest as she catches herself looking forward to the start of a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porter is based on a real life Boxer dog. He's no longer with us, but he will always be one of the great loves of my life. I have a picture up on Tumblr if you're interested.


	6. good boy in a storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christen makes a red carpet appearance, Tobin meets Pinoe and Porter is a good boy in a storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience. Christmas is a busy time of year for me, starting in August and ending in February. Now that I have my hands (and thoughts) free again, I present you this brand new chapter of Building Rooms.

Tobin could kick herself. She should. _'You look like an angel?'_ Really? Who talks like that? Watching Christen walk away from her, she's overcome with a belated feeling of utter mortification. Losing her cool over a pretty girl sounds a little high school, but truth be told, Christen has her feeling like her sixteen year old self all over again. The teasing, the playful banter, the constant need for Christen's eyes on her has teenaged Tobin written all over it. The only difference between then and now is that she's able to tell if she's barking up the wrong tree a lot sooner these days and she's fairly certain that there's absolutely nothing wrong with the tree of her choosing, but as she watches Christen duck into the back of a limo, she's reminded of her station and of all the obvious differences between them. There's no need to fool herself into thinking she'll ever be more to Christen than what she is today. In just a few short weeks she'll be out of Christen's life and out of her mind shortly after, Tobin's sure. Feeling strangely disappointed — a little emotional even — she's happy to hear Porter approach. Not a moment too soon, she thinks, because she can't wait to get away from this place all of a sudden.

~

Christen's quiet on the ride to the Dolby Theatre. Crystal tries to draw her into meaningless conversation to distract her, but stops after her third attempt. Christen's anxiety fills the space inside the car and it has Crystal on edge as well. There's no doubt Christen's appearance is going to kick up a lot of dust and they both know it's going to take quite some time for it to settle after tonight. Crystal can only hope her friend will walk away unharmed.

When the limo slows to a stop, Christen goes rigid. Still safe behind the tinted windows, she can already tell it's a madhouse outside and the urge to escape hits her hard. She wants to tell the driver to step on it and get her out of there, but Crystal's voice is in her ear telling her she's almost there. That stepping out of the car means one down, two to go. That there will _have_ to be a first appearance, whether it's this one or another. Christen wants to ignore her and the truth of those words, but she knows her PA's right. She nods to her driver, silently letting the woman know she's ready for her to reveal who's inside this ride. With one last prayer on her lips, she watches the door crack open, immediately blinded by flashes of light and bombarded with the rising pitch of excited voices stating the obvious. Yes, it's _her_ and she can't wait to get this over with.

If there's one thing about Hollywood that she loves, it's that it's all so perfectly predictable. Christen knows which reporters to dodge, walking past them without so much a glance in their direction. She still hears their questions, though. As expected, it's one painful reminder after another as they try to rile her up in hopes of her snapping out an answer. She's tempted. Quite a few times, actually, but Crystal's doing a wonderful job of pulling her along the red carpet, offering apologies for not taking any questions and asking reporters to respectfully mind their distance. It isn't until they're finally inside that Christen finds she's been holding her breath almost the entire time. Her head is throbbing, her heart is pounding and there's a trickle of perspiration running down between her shoulder blades. Once upon a time — lying in her canopy bed, dreaming of the future — _this_ had been the ultimate goal and now she can't wait to leave this world behind. Be careful what you wish for, indeed, Christen thinks as she plasters on yet another fake smile when all she really wants is to go home so she can roll herself into a blanket burrito on her queen sized bed, wishing for everyone to just forget her name and everything else about her.

At the end of the night her facial muscles are cramping up from smiling too wide and talking so much. She's no longer used to schmoozing for hours on end, talking about all things trivial and with no fucks to give. She used to listen and she used to care, but all this talk of inconsequential things makes her angry. They're at an award ceremony for people who are willing to go above and beyond for a great cause, but most of these people are only to hear to be seen and heard. She used to be able to handle all the chit chat, but something's changed. It doesn't take a lot of research to pinpoint that something, of course, because she knows _she's_ the one toting that change with her wherever she goes these days. People are either blissfully unaware of her grief or they're acting their way around it and it's not like she's willing to talk about her brokenness with all these … acquaintances and unfamiliars, but she can't imagine something so life changing happening to one of her peers and _not_ ask them how they're holding up. It only strengthens the feeling of not belonging. Not anymore or maybe ever? Her eyes find Crystal's as she thinks it and, once again, she thanks the powers that be for a friend like Crystal Dunn. Within seconds she's being excused and led away. One down, two to go.

~

Tobin doesn't usually indulge in mindless television, but tonight she finds herself stretched out on her couch — Porter sound asleep on top of her — watching the entertainment channel. There's nothing mindless about her pick of channels, of course, but she'll be hard pressed to confess to anyone that she's purposely watching E! this evening. Her mind is on Christen and Tobin can't help but want another glimpse of the beautiful actress in that pristine white outfit, mind still sifting through images of their encounter tonight. She'd watched the red carpet segment, not quite knowing how to feel. The gall of quite a few reporters had her growling at the screen, causing Porter to growl right along with her at those leeches thrusting their mics in Christen's face while assaulting her with rude and intrusive questions. So what if his tail had been wagging? It's the thought that counts!

Even if she's feeling a bit voyeuristic watching Christen on tv like this, Tobin is still waiting for the end of the ceremony and for Christen to grace her screen again. She doesn't know where her curiosity stems from, but lately, where Christen goes, Tobin's attention wanders. Okay, so maybe it's not all that difficult to explain, but she's not ready to admit — not even to herself — that she's acutely aware of all the reasons she can't seem to rid her mind of Christen Press. She's not ready to accept it, not ready to do something about it and not ready to give up on it either, which leaves her fuming at 40 inches of LED technology, praying for Christen's comfort and safety.

She's almost asleep when something catches her attention. She doesn't know if it's the excitement in the announcer's voice or if it's pure instinct, but she's upright in a flash. Porter's immediately awake and alert, sensing his owner's unease. Her eyes are focused on the large window with the moving pictures, but Porter doesn't notice anything amiss. No monsters or meanies coming at them from the box hanging over the fireplace, something that causes him distress from time to time, but that's not it. Looking back to Tobin, he can tell she's not happy, but how can he protect her or comfort her if he doesn't understand what's going on? 

When she jumps up, he's off the couch as well, ready to head into battle and do some damage, but nothing really happens after that. His master is moving from one end of the den to the other and back again, making unfamiliar noises, so he's pretty sure there she doesn't need anything from him. He's practically dizzy with watching her pace when she finally snaps out of it and hurries out of the room. Porter sprints after her, hoping she won't forget about him if she plans to leave the house. He loves to leave the house and until a short while ago, the promise of a walk would've been the best thing to ever happen to him every time it happened, like four times a day. So, yeah, he _loves_ to go for a walk, but lately, going for a ride is even better, because when the big red contraption stops, he's almost sure to see _her_ again. His new best friend. The one with the sad eyes and the sweet voice who seems to love him just as much as he loves bacon strips. Gosh, if they're leaving the house tonight, can they _please_ go see his friend?

His wish seems to come true when his master hits the white square on the wall and one of the garage doors opens. The big red contraption's eyes blink to life as they approach it, telling Porter they're definitely going somewhere. His tail wags as he thinks of all the cuddles he'll be getting if they really _are_ going where he hopes they're going, but one look at his master and he's unsure again. She still doesn't look very happy, the corners of her sound box pulled down instead of up and he doesn't like it one bit. Like a good boy, he settles into his spot in the back of the cabin, keeping an eye on Tobin at all times.

When they finally pull to a stop, Porter's ecstatic to recognize the house and its humongous yard. There's a black blob in front of the house and as soon as he's let out of the truck, he's on his way to check things out. His master, in the meantime, is pulling her favorite toy from her pocket — the place where his treats usually live — and brings it up to her scrunched up face. While he sniffs his way around the unfamiliar object, he hears his master's voice pipe up. Locking eyes with Tobin, he notices she's speaking into her toy, meaning he's free to investigate this big black whatever and see if it's a threat that needs neutralizing. Anything for his friend.

While he's risking his life for one friend, another steps out of the house. She's coming closer and closer and Porter can barely contain his excitement. His whole body's shaking with it and he's jumping up and down, waiting for her to reach them. The moment she does, she's bending down to greet him and as she cradles his head in her hands, he just knows she's happy to see him too.

"What are you doing here?" Crystal asks, looking at Porter, but speaking to Tobin. There's something in her voice that tells Tobin the PA knows exactly what she's doing here, but Crystal needs to hear her say it.

Tobin's discomfort grows. She'd been up from that couch and en route to Christen's without thinking about the why of it all. What _is_ she doing here? What made her think she'd be welcomed here? Now? They barely know each other, but seeing Christen having a panic attack on live tv sent her this way and now that she's here, she finally has a moment to consider her actions.

"I saw what happened," She tells Crystal and hopes that's enough of an explanation, because she doesn't really have anything else beyond that.

Getting up from her crouching position, Crystal steps closer to with apologetic eyes. "I'm sorry, Tobin. I don't think she'll want to see you. I can barely get her to let _me_ in her room."

Tobin nods in understanding and she really _does_ get it. They're practically strangers to each other and she totally gets where Crystal's coming from, but it doesn't make her worry any less about the clearly distraught woman she'd watched hurry down a red carpet in tears and near hysterics.

"What about him?" Tobin nods to Porter as she says it. "Do you think she'll let him in?" The tears that well up in Crystal's eyes almost set off her own, but she refuses to let them fall. This isn't about her. This is about Christen and if there's any way she can help ease the pain so clearly dominating the grieving woman's day to day life, she'll make it happen.

"I can try," Crystal offers. "Thank you, Tobin. Wait here?"

In answer, Tobin leans back against the black limo still parked in the driveway as she watches Crystal trod off with Porter beside her. It isn't until they reach the front door that Porter finally looks back at her, probably wondering why she isn't coming, but the prospect of seeing Christen outweighs everything else, so when the door closes behind them, his only mission is to find her.

~

Tobin lets out a sigh of— well, whatever it is she's feeling. There's a hint of embarrassment for showing up out of the blue. There's worry, of course, because it hadn't looked pretty and with all those camera's around, Tobin's sure Christen's tear-streaked face will decorate many a tabloid cover come morning. Her heart aches just thinking about it and she wants to fight every one of those paparazzi bloodhounds with her bare hands just so they'll leave Christen alone. She's a protector by nature, but meeting Christen has loosened some entirely new feelings inside of her. She just hopes Porter will be allowed to do what she herself is not.

Inside the mansion, Crystal's leading Porter up the stairs. He's taking in his surroundings, but he's not stopping to get a little more intimately acquainted with the furniture he passes or the large potted plants he usually likes to check for edibility. His sniffer is already picking up the familiar blend of smells that make up his friend. He could probably pick out the door she's hiding behind himself, but Crystal's doing a fine job as well, because the scent gets stronger with every step they take. When his companion stops walking, so does Porter and he sits without being asked to.

He hears the knock on the door and then the cadence of a familiar voice. He senses sadness from beside him and he learns in that moment that even the sweetest voice has the power to make someone sad. He listens as more sounds are exchanged between his two friends, hoping the door will open soon and he'll finally get to see Christen again. He's starting to lose hope as he watches his friend on _this_ side of the door drop her shoulders in defeat. She's radiating a feeling he doesn't care for, so he nudges the hand closest to him to let her know he's here for her. It seems to help, because next thing he knows, he hears something along the lines of 'Screw it' and while he may have no clue what it means, it does somehow magically open the door just wide enough for him to slip through before it closes again. He's in!

~

"Rough night?"

Tobin jumps away from the limo, swiveling her head from left to right to find the owner of the unexpected voice. A feminine chuckle comes from behind her and it takes Tobin a second to realize it's coming from inside the car. Ducking down, she meets the eyes of a pink haired woman dressed in an honest to goodness three piece suit. The only thing missing, Tobin thinks, is a chauffeur cap to complete the perfect picture. She's leaning back in her seat, eyeing Tobin with interest and a hint of amusement in her kind and knowing eyes.

"Megan," the woman introduces herself. "You must be Tobin."

Tobin's surprise cannot be contained. She feels her eyebrows shoot up at the mention of her name, wondering if she's supposed to know this woman.

"Crystal kinda keeps me up to speed on the people in Christen's life," Megan offers in answer to Tobin's unasked question. "The dog gave it away, though," she grins. "Wouldn't have made the connection otherwise."

Tobin smiles back at her, marveling at the fact that, once again, Porter's reputation precedes him. _And_ her, apparently. "Yeah, I keep finding out he's made a lasting impression on quite a few folks around here."

"I hear he's not the only one," the driver teases and she winks as she says it.

It has Tobin blushing to the roots of her tousled hair, but her heart skips a beat as she lets the words sink in. "Glad to hear it, but it doesn't change the fact that _he's_ inside and _I'm_ standing here talking to you."

Megan laughs at this. Loudly. "Trust me," she tells Tobin, eyes twinkling with mirth, "You're not the only one wishing for that particular switch. I hear he's quite the ladies' man!"

Tobin guffaws at the truth of those words. He sure knows how to charm the ladies in Tobin's life, Crystal and Christen falling under his spell in under ten minutes. Not quite a record, but still impressive. "He sure is," Tobin agrees gamely. "I'm not offended at all."

A few minutes later, Tobin's made her way inside the car, sitting in the passenger seat while they make small talk as they both keep an eye on the house and the front door, waiting for the PA to reappear. Megan is waiting to take Crystal home, Tobin learns, while Tobin herself is waiting to see if she's taking Porter home or not. Before long, the front door finally opens and Crystal steps out. Alone. So the little stinker worked his way in. Good for him. She hopes Christen finds comfort in his awesome snuggles tonight.

"I guess that's my cue," she tells Megan as she reaches for the door handle. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too! I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again someday soon, Tobin Heath. Have a good one!"

Stepping out of the limo, she meets Crystal a few paces away from the car. "Did she want him to stay?"

"I didn't _ask_ , necessarily," Crystal smirks. "But the fact that she didn't kick him out is a good sign. I think you're going home alone tonight."

Tobin can only shrug in acceptance, satisfied with the fact that coming over hadn't been a bust altogether. Porter will know what to do. She knows from experience that he's an expert at keeping the tears at bay, no matter the reason they're flowing.

"See you in the morning then, Crystal. If there's anything else I can do, please let me know."

"I will, Tobin," and the promise in her voice makes Tobin believe her. "And thank you. For coming over. And for being such a good sport about letting Porter stay over. She forced me to leave and I like knowing she isn't completely alone."

Tobin can't imagine how hard this must be on Crystal. Watching your best friend suffer and only being able to do whatever that friend allows you to can't be easy. She vows to help Crystal carry that burden. "You're a good friend to her, Crystal," Tobin hopes to ease her pain a little. "I hope you know that."

This time, when Crystal's eyes fill with tears, she lets them fall. Tobin's quick to scoop her compact frame into her arms, telling her to let it all out. Upstairs, in a pitch dark bedroom, Porter tries to convey that same message to the woman clinging to him while her body heaves with heart wrenching sobs. He whimpers a little as he empathizes with her overwhelming sadness, but he'll be her anchor for as long as she needs him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope it was worth the wait for those who let me know they'd love an update. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and if you did, I'd really love to hear about it. You can come find me on Tumblr @SeaWallFics if you want to have chat or if you have questions/suggestions. Feel free to visit me there. Thank you!


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